Thoughts from a Rest Stop

I’m driving home to see my family for the weekend. I left about an hour ago—right after I got off work. It’s been a long week, and I’m feeling it. Each time I blink, it takes me a little longer to open my eyes.

I pass a blue sign. “Rest Area. One Mile.”

I’m torn as to whether I should stop to get a soda from a vending machine. I probably need to get some caffeine pumping through my veins. But I’ve been moving along at a steady clip, and I’d hate to slow myself down with a stop. I can probably make it without stopping if I crank up the radio and . . .

A loud reverberating noise pulls me from my thoughts. Rumble strips. I must have been drifting. The rest stop is just ahead, so I exit the interstate.

I get out of my car and head toward to the welcome center. The automatic doors are almost too slow for my approach. They just barely slide open before I pass through. Once inside, I see a vending machine. I feed it two dollars and punch a faded button. Then I fish out the bottle that drops to the bottom.

This has been a fast stop. I can’t have lost more than five minutes.

When I get back to the parking lot, I set my soda on my car’s roof. I lean down, unlock my door, then stand up to grab the soda.

When I do, I am stunned by what I see beyond the bottle. Past the parking lot, there’s a green and gold field. It gently slopes down and back up again. A tree line frames the field. Some of the trees are verdant green. Others are just barely touched with autumn red. But they are all drenched in the soft light of evening.

Behind me, I can hear the drone of the interstate. But in front of me, the world is quiet and still. And as I gaze out over this scene, the pressure to rush back to the road subsides. This image pulls everything inside of me toward the artist who made it. This sight gives me peace.

I almost drove past this majesty. Traded pastures for the passing lanes. Missed out on the rest that my Father provided for me.

I’m grateful for this moment. I close my car door and twist open my soda. I lean against the car and take a sip.

In a few minutes, I’ll resume my journey. But for a moment, I want to take advantage of this opportunity to rest.

For a moment, I want to be completely surrounded by the peace that only the Lord can provide.